Andulvar Yaslana goes to camp
by wildwingedwarrior
Summary: Andulvar Yaslana is a young Eyrien, and this is his story. Takes place before the big war that happened. I'm not too good at summaries. Ask and you shall receive...answers!
1. Chapter 1

Alrighty then. You people know the drill. I own only the characters you don't recognize. Please ask before taking (not that I can imagine any reason as to why you would want them, but whatever). All recognizable characters and places belong to Anne Bishop. Hoorah.

**WARNING**: No one under the age of fifteen should read this. There is some language, suggestive comments, mild nudity, and some language. You've been warned.

* * *

Uh...It's kinda hard to think of Eyrien names. I mean, it's a camp full of male Eyriens. How am I supposed to come up with _that _many names?? So, as it stands, the characters Zero and the Master of the Camp/Instructor both desire names really badly. If you have any ideas you'd wish to share, I will be more than delighted to take a look. All proper credits will go to the creator of course. Thank you much.

* * *

When Andulvar Yaslana was twelve, he went to camp, and this is what happened.

* * *

He remembered playing with his friends after Craft lessons. The sun felt good against his wings and skin after being cramped up in the classroom. An eyrie it might have been, but no way was it meant to fit fourteen hyper-active, arrogant, snot-nosed Eyrien children...and himself, of course. When standing at the edge of the cliff the eyrie was on, he could look out over the spanse of the training camp below. He couldn't wait to go, and to be the best Eyrien warrior ever seen.  
He always had the dream that he would get into the camp, and he would show everyone up. He'd kick butt and take names. He would be awesome, and all the older warriors would have to take his orders. 

Yet here he was, lying in bed, wide awake, staring at the blank ceiling in the dark room. His muscles ached. The Master of the camp had put him through a few strenuous exercises to test for strengths and weaknesses. Every time, he was pushed on his ass, and he always asked for a rematch. Finally, the Master called it quits, and showed him to the bunker that he would share with ten other men. A few were his age, more were older. Many had already made the Offering.  
"Hey Yaslana, you awake?" one of the residents asked, sitting up in bed.  
"If we're all still awake, why do the lights have to be off?" Andulvar responded.  
"Scared of the dark, Yaslana?"  
"No..."  
"How old are you anyway, Yaslana?"  
"My name is Andulvar." He felt the bed sink a little, the hands holding him down, and the breath against his neck. He only wished he could see the son of a bitch so he could hit him.  
"You think you're top shit around here, don't you? The first day, and you're strutting around as if you own this place."  
"Be careful, Jhakar. He's coming," another called near the door.  
The weight on the bed lifted, and there was a mad scrambling before the door opened.  
"What's going on in here, Jhakar?" the Instructor asked, holding up a lantern lit by witchlight.  
"I was just talking with Yaslana, sir."  
"It's time to go to sleep, and that means all of you." The light passed over everyone in the bunker. "I know you boys are awake. You'll have your time to get to know him tomorrow during breakfast."  
"Sir, if I may, I would like to personally take Yaslana under my wing and train him to be the best."  
"No way!" Andulvar screamed, sitting up in bed. "I don't want him to train me. He doesn't know anything, and he keeps calling me Yaslana."  
The Instructor just looked at him. "Everyone will call you Yaslana until you make yourself known around this camp, maybe not even then. Now get into bed before I get the whole camp on your tails about waking up now to start training."  
"Yes, sir," Jhakar and Andulvar answered together, and climbed into their beds. Once the Instructor left, Jhakar was making his way back to Andulvar's bed. "How old are you, Yaslana?"  
"I'm twelve. What does it matter?"  
"You don't have to answer him, Andulvar. Until you make the Offering to the Darkness, he's your equal." A tall Eyrien blocked Andulvar from Jhakar.  
"What about him?"  
The question got a laugh from everyone except Jhakar, who admitted that he had already made the Offering.  
"Who cares anyway? This is your last year, Temar. You can't watch him next year, and then he'll be all mine," Jhakar said with triumph.  
"Nothing's stopping me from being an instructor. The old man always says he needs help."  
"Yaslana shouldn't be babied. He's a warrior and should be treated like one."  
"Just leave him alone, Jhakar. If you lay a finger on him, you'll get hell from me."  
Jhakar walked past Temar and draped himslef over Andulvar's shoulders. "Isn't he just precious? Will he be the next to break under you?"  
Andulvar sighed heavily. "Can I just go to sleep now?" He pulled Jhakar's arms off. "I don't want to be babied, I don't need someone watchin over me, and I'm perfectly capapble of finding a girl." He looked pointedly at Jhakar.  
"Aww, Yaslana's upset." He kissed Andulvar's cheek.  
Andulvar could feel his face heat up. He pushed Jhakar away. "Get off of me! I'm not your play toy."  
"Go to sleep!" the camp's Master called.  
Andulvar and the other two climbed into their beds. When the witchlight went away, Jhakar whispered, "You're my bitch, Yaslana."  
"I hate you, Jhakar," Andulvar whispered back. He rolled over in his bed, his eyes closed tight, telling himself that it was all just a dream.

"Andulvar, wake up. You're going to miss breakfast, and you'll have to train on an empty stomach."  
"Is he waking up, Lekar?"  
"No, sir, he's not even budging."  
The shaking stopped, and Andulvar opened his eyes. "Lekar? What are you doing here?"  
The boy smiled. "Trying to get you up. I've been friends with you long enough to know that when you don't eat breakfast, you're not a pleasant person."  
Andulvar laughed, but stopped and stared at the man behind Lekar. "Temar...so it wasn't a dream?"  
Temar shook his head, then moved to show the empty beds behind him. "Everyone's been up since sunrise. The new recruits are still eating. In a few weeks, you'll be getting up at the same time." He pulled Andulvar out of bed. "Tuck in your shirt and get to stepping."  
Andulvar and Lekar raced to the chow hall, eager to talk about their first day and night.  
"So he's a pedofile?" Lekar said before scaring down a roll.  
"I know he's creepy. He says that he wants to train me personally. And that I'm...his bitch."  
Lekar put his fork down, and looked at Andulvar. "His bitch?" He cracked up. "Andulvar Yaslana is no one's bitch. You told your dad that, remember?"  
"Then I got the biggest beating of my life." Andulvar played with the watery eggs. "This food isn't edible at all. It's so..." He shook his head. "Anyway, Temar said that he'd watch over me, more or less. I'd rather just train with you guys."  
"Shit, I'm sure you'd rather live in my bunker than with those assholes."  
"At least I can still top you."  
Lekar frowned. "Andulvar, you can kill me, remember? You'll make your Offering before I do."  
"So? You know I wouldn't kill you." He stabbed the table. "I'd rather kill Jhakar."  
"Come on, children!" The Instructor called, standing at the door. "Today you'll get your "body guard", and start training under them. Dump your plates and line up according to Jewel ranking."  
The boys lined up, looking curiously around at the people in the line. Andulvar was both glad and concerned with being the last in line. Single file, the boys marched out to the field where a line twice the length of the line of new people waited. Andulvar was relieved to see that Jhakar wasn't in the line-up.  
"Okay boys, this is how it's going to work. This is all of the oldest group in this camp. As warriors in their final year, they are to train the new boys in basic skills. You fifteen are the new boys. Now, I admit that this is the most potentially gifted group of hatchlings we've had in quite some time, with the exception of a few. What will happen now is that I will let them choose you, and then pick the one who I think will be the best to train you. The only exception would be Yaslana. I want Temar to train him. Everyone else...go at it. Yalsana, come here for a minute."  
Andulvar stepped from the line toward the Instructor as the older men inspected the young warriors. "Sir?"  
"I hear you two already met after last night's bru-ha-ha with Jhakar."  
Andulvar scuffed his boot against the ground, looking at the deepening line. "He called me his bitch," he mumbled.  
"Look up when you're talking, and stop acting like a child. Your parents aren't here to baby."  
Andulvar's head shot up. "I don't want to be treated like a baby."  
The Insturctor hit Andulvar across the back of the head. "Then stop acting like it. Once you start training, you're here until you've nothing left to learn. If someone says you're his bitch, you are until you punch that son of a bitch in the jaw. Kid, whatever you learned about respecting your elders while growing up can be tossed right out of the window. Everyone is your equal. Nothing more, nothing less."  
"Yes, sir."  
"Now get back into that line, and remember what I told you about respect."  
Andulvar had a firece look with an arrogant smile on his face. "I'm going to suprass you, old man. And then we'll see who's the bitch." He ran back ot the line-up, a new perspective of the camp in his mind...and he couldn't wait to share it with Lekar.

Andulvar fell onto his bed with a loud thud. "My arms hurt."  
Temar smiled, looking at Andulvar. "You should have listened to me the first time. Then you wouldn't have had to do so many push-ups."  
"Andulvar should probably go soak," said Calcivar, a boy Andulvar had met in the mess hall, who caused the food fight only moments ago, and was now digging through his trunk. "Just...watch out for Jhakar." He stopped rummaging to give Andulvar a playful smile. "Speak of the devil," he said as the cabin door opened.  
"Watch out, Yaslana!" someone said, but Andulvar was pinned before he could see who it was.  
"How was your day, Yaslana?"  
"I'm not your bitch."  
"Oh? Why don't you get up, and we'll figure out if you're my bitch or not."  
"I can't fight you."  
"Why not?"  
"Because you're pinning me down. Besides, I don't want to fight you." Andulvar looked away, hoping that Jhakar wouldn't end up in his bed in the middle of the night.  
Jhakar slipped his hand under Andulvar's shirt, hissing in his ear, "You're so pretty."  
Andulvar started to squirm, on the verge of panic. "Get off...don't do...TEMAR!"  
Temar pulled Jhakar off of Andulvar. "Run, boy, run!"  
Andulvar didn't hesitate. He rolled off of the bed, and bolted to the door, stopping for a moment in his blind panic to remember how to open the door. He tumbled down the steps, and sped across the grounds to the complex that held White through Tiger Eye Jewels. He ripped open the door, scaring the boys inside. "Where's Lekar?"  
"He went to the bathroom," one said quietly. Andulvar recognized him as Setar, Lekar's White Jeweled Warlord twin. "Andulvar, you shouldn't be here. If the Instructor finds out you're here...you could get in trouble."  
"Andulvar?" Lekar asked from the door. He placed his hand on his friend's shoulder, causing Andulvar to jump. "Are you feeling all right? You look sick."  
"I don't want to be here anymore. I don't like anyone in my bunker. They're all out to get me."  
"Did you tell the Instructor?"  
"He said I'm a bitch until I punch the son of a bitch across the face."  
"Did you?"  
Andulvar pushed Lekar against the wall. "I was pinned to my bed. I did nothing to deserve this torment. I just want to leave and come back after I've made--no, second thought, I don't want to come back at all!"  
"Andulvar, just relax a little. You're dangerous."  
"I'm not dangerous!"  
Lekar looked down at Andulvar's glowing Red Jewel, just inches away from his own Tiger Eye. "You're my closest friend, and you know I've never been afraid of you. Now, take a few deep breaths, a few steps back, and just think through this."  
Setar gathered everyone together in a meager attempt at a defense.  
Lekar moved his hands so he was holding on to Andulvar's arms. "Want to sit down? I'm the only Tiger-Eye here. They won't come near us in the corner."  
Andulvar looked at the warriors huddled together. Of the twenty there, a handful of them were in their second or third year. Majority of them he knew from playing on the side of Askavi after school. "Outside. Let's go outside." He let go of Lekar, and walked outside, the door slamming behind him.  
Lekar looked at his brother. "Setar, watch them. I don't think Andulvar will hurt anyone, but there's not much I can do." He followed in Andulvar's steps, sitting next to him on the steps. "So, what happened?" When Andulvar looked away, he knew whatever happened in the bunker had left a scar on his friend that would last for a long time, if not a lifetime.  
"He...his hand was under my shirt. If it wasn't for Temar, I think more would have happened, and no one would have stopped him. That's why I don't like them."  
Lekar wrapped his arms around Andulvar and was welcomed by that familiar brotherly hug. "No one ever said it would be easy. Eventually, we would've had to put up with this."  
Andulvar's embrace tightened. "I'm going to get stronger so I can protect the new people from those like Jhakar." His voice softened. "So I can protect you and Setar from people like Jhakar."  
Lekar rested his head on Andulvar's shoulder.  
"You should go to sleep. You were falling in your food at dinner," Andulvar suggested, letting his arms fall.  
"Where are you going to go?"  
"Back, I guess. They're probably all calmed down. Maybe Jhakar's worn out by now."  
"You can't go back! What if Jhakar hurts you?" He stood up, pulling at Andulvar's arms. "There's an extra bed in the bunker. You can stay with us and get your stuff in the morning. The divisions of Jewels shouldn't matter. We're all going to change after the Offering. Andulvar--"  
"Don't whine. You're two things by being here. You're Eyrien and a warrior. We have to act like it by being mature and accepting about what will come. We have to be men."  
"We're TWELVE, Andulvar. We're not expected to be me. We're expected to learn, and be students."  
"We're all equals here. Nothing more, nothing less."  
"Who told you that?"  
"The Instructor did."  
Lekar dropped Andulvar's arm. "Andulvar--"  
"What are you two doing out?"  
Lekar and Andulvar froze, the lantern blocking their view.  
It swung to the side, and there was Calcivar, grinning like an idiot. "Say goodnight to him, Yaslana. You'll survive the night."  
"What happened to Jhakar? And Temar?"  
The smile went away. "I'll drag you back if I have to. Say good night and get into your bunker, kid."  
"It's Lekar."  
"I don't care if it's Jillian! Get into your bunker."  
Lekar stormed back inside, mumbling something about Warlord Princes.  
Calivar shook his head, wrapped his arm around Andulvar's shoulders, and put out the light, hanging the lantern by the door. "Come on Yaslana. We have some business to talk about."  
"What happened?"  
"Well, if the old man finds out what happened tonight, we'll hear about it tomorrow."

Andulvar never thought breakfast could be so scary until that morning. The moment he walked into the building, all eyes were on him. He could hear the whispers from the door, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw first year warriors standing up to get a better view. He look around eagerly with no sign of Jhakar or Temar.  
"Come on, children," the Master called, causing Andulvar to jump in surprise. "There's no time to dawdle."  
The older fighters got up without a word, which allowed the younger fighters to move closer.  
"Um, sir," Andulvar said, walking beside the Master, "what happened to Temar?"  
He stopped walking, and looked at Andulvar. "You need to pull yourself together, kid. Temar is your teacher, not your guardian. If you have a problem with someone, YOU work it out. I told you already what to do, but boy, you need to get creative. It's your battle, you fight it." He kneeled down so he was eye level with Andulvar. "There's going to be a time when no one can bail you out or save your ass. That's why you're here."  
"It's hard to fight back when you're pinned to the bed, old man."  
"Then knee him in the balls and watch him fall."  
Andulvar swallowed hard. "He'll just get up, and he'll be furious," he stammered.  
"You're dad's kicked your ass before?"  
"He's too weak to be my dad."  
The instructor sighed, shaking his head. "You've got talent, but you have to fight to live. I can't stop people from touching you. As long as they're not slaughtering people, then I can't do anything about it." He stood up. "Temar's got a broken arm, so you'll be training with Lekar and Zero."  
"Zero?"  
"We don't call him by his name because it's a very...unique variation of his mother's. He's an Opal, so go easy, okay?"  
Andulvar nodded, and walked back into the chow hall, immediately bombarded with questions from his friends and on-lookers.

Three months of training with Zero and Lekar, and Andulvar finally felt at home. Temar recovered fully, but watched from the sidelines while Andulvar trained. The first years were waking up at the same time as the others, some dragging their feet along the ground until they ate. It wasn't long after Temar was back to training Andulvar that Jhakar was also back to his tricks. It only took Andulvar a month to snap, beating Jhakar's face black and blue, receiving a good deal back. Andulvar was the hero of the younger warriors, especially to those new in the camp in the coming years.

Andulvar Yaslana woke to a screaming first year.  
"Quiet kid," Calcivar mumbled, muffling the screams. "You won't like him if you wake him up."  
The kid kept screaming.  
"Hush--AAH!! Dammit, he bit me."  
Andulvar rolled over, facing the wall, pleased the screaming had stopped.  
Something didn't feel right.  
He opened his eyes and looked up.  
There he was, the screaming first year, who ran and hid the moment Andulvar walked in. He was a hassle.  
"What do you want?" Andulvar said gruffly, sitting up, his Jewel hanging dully.  
The kid started screaming.  
"Mother Night," he mumbled, and pushed the kid off his bed.  
Lekar knocked on the door and entered. "Morning, guys," he said casually, walking to his friend, who was pulling on his pants. "Rough morning?" he mentioned jokingly, noting the kid on the floor.  
Andulvar looked at him, then the kid, and back up. "I'm glad I'm not training him."  
"Who is?"  
Andulvar thought for a moment, then smiled smugly. "Jhakar." He stood the boy up. "Go get some breakfast...since you're up anyway."  
Lekar followed Andulvar out of the bunker. "Wow, compassionate and stern. You're one fiercesome warrior."  
"Shut up or I'll stab you at breakfast."  
Lekar stopped and frowned. "And this is the man the Ladies want as he walks through the town?" He shook his head. "I'm never going to find a girl." He started walking, head lowered, and ran into Andulvar. "Hey! What's the big--"  
"Who's that?" Andulvar asked, pointing at two people across the grounds.  
"The Instructor?"  
"No, the one beside him, with the small frame and baggy clothes."  
"A new recruit, I guess. Looks like a wimp." Lekar shrugged. "Let's go eat before we miss out."  
"Boys! Why aren't you on the field?" the Instructor asked, making his way over with the new person in tow.  
"We were just going to breakfast. Someone overslept." Lekar looked pointedly at Andulvar.  
The Instructor followed the glare. "Andulvar. This is Maltar. He's new, and I want you to show him the ropes."  
"Training is for the older students. Get one of them to do it," Andulvar said casually, taking notice of the finer details of the newcomer.  
"I'm making Maltar your responsibility, Yaslana. He wears Gray Jewels, so he'll be in your bunker."  
Andulvar considered the task, taking one final look. _A girl?_ he thought, trying not to show any sign of emotion. "All right. I'll be tough on him. He won't wuss out?"  
"No. He's already got some skill." The Instructor shrugged and pushed Maltar forward.  
Maltar stumbled, falling into Andulvar. He looked up at the Warlord Prince with wide eyes.  
Andulvar stood him up and said on a Red spear-thread You're blushing.  
Maltar punched Andulvar, who punched back almost immediately, and the battle started. Andulvar and Maltar took turns, exchanging blow for blow on the ground and in the air. There were a few times when Maltar took risky dives to avoid Andulvar, pulling up just inches above the ground. Andulvar followed, finally catching up to him and forcing him to the ground in a rather rough landing. Some trainees gathered around in a wide circle, pushing others to see what the commotion was that tore apart a good deal of the camp.  
Andulvar was standing still as Maltar threw weak punches at him. The Red-Jeweled Warlord Prince was mocking the new recruit. "For a Gray Warlord Prince, you're pretty weak. Just a little running around, and you're all cut up. Who taught you?"  
"My father," he responded through gritted teeth.  
"No offense, but your father is a horrible teacher."

* * *

Break in reading  
While writing the first part of this story, I wanted to put in a second language. I didn't want one that would need it's own key to, but I didn't want to keep stating over and over again that the language was being used. So this is what I did.  
The whole language is A SENTENCE WRITTEN BACKWARDS. I repeat:: SDRAWKCAB NETTIRW ECNETNES A.  
For the people who don't get it, here is an example::  
Won ti teg uoy od? ---> Do you get it now?  
If you still don't get it, well...tough beans for you.  
Return to reading

* * *

Maltar looked up with fiery Gray eyes. "Rehcaet elbirroh a ton si rehtaf ym!" He called in a giant boomerang and threw it without another thought. It soared over Andulvar's head as he stood there stupidly. It crashed into the nearest barrack as the Instructor made his way to the center of the circle. Maltar learned the real definition of manual labor that day after he was handed nails, boards, and a hammer. Andulvar became a gardener for the day.  
Around dinner time, Andulvar landed lightly beside Maltar, tapping on the newly thatched roof. "It looks good, Maltar. Working hard?"  
"Uoy naht redrah..." He hammered a nail into a board. "What do you want?"  
"What did you say?"  
"What do you want?"  
"No before that."  
Maltar paused. "Harder than you." He hammered in another nail. "What do you want?"  
"Dinner."  
He missed the nail, hitting his hand instead. "Mother Night!" He started murmuring a string of curses.  
Andulvar vanished the nails from the bucket, and put ice in there. "Stick your hand in this."  
"Where'd you get the ice?" He asked easing his hand into the bucket.  
"It was cooling our drinks."  
"Drinks?"  
"Do you always ask this many questions?"  
"Drinks?"  
Andulvar summoned the small meal the Instructor handed him as he finished off the fencing. "Dinner. Unless you want to choke down the food."  
Maltar set down the hammer, and slowly sat next to the pack. "What's for dinner?"  
Andulvar opened it. "Looks like sandwiches for those working hard while everyone else gets food." Andulvar handed one to Maltar, who just looked at it in the wrapping. "It's bread and meat, princess, eat it."  
"I'm not "princess"."  
"Sorry...what's your name? Maltarian?"  
"Yes..."  
Andulvar handed Maltarian a cup of water, unphased by this news.  
"Maybe I should have just stayed home."  
"Forced to come?"  
"No. I just wanted new training...different training. The guards at home...wouldn't teach me any more."  
"Why not?"  
Maltarian shifted uncomfortably in her place. "I'm daddy's little girl."  
"Your father runs the camp?"  
"In an indirect way, yes."  
Andulvar shrugged. "It's not like he rules. That's a Queen's job."  
"Not...quite at Ebon Kae."  
"Ebon Kae?"  
"My home. I understand that here the word "king" has no meaning...along with "princess". I also have learned the words "prince" and "lady" and "queen" have a bit of a different meaning than at home." She looked at him from the corner of her eye, their sapphire color catching the sun.  
"I thought they were gray," Andulvar said, looking at her curiously.  
"What?"  
"Your eyes."  
"Oh...well, funny thing. It's a trait I picked up from my father. My eyes change according to the Jewels I'm currently wearing. Many people might mistake you for a Yellow Jeweled Warlord."  
Andulvar growled.  
"No, no! That's not necessarily a bad thing."  
"Yellow is one of the weakest."  
"Ebon Kae holds Yellow in the same respect as Ebon-gray. Though the darker is more looked for and appreciated, Yellow is respected for knowledge. Strategy is just as important as power."  
Andulvar looked at her warily. "So Opal is?"  
"Not all that praise-worthy. Very few people wear Opal after the Offering."  
"White is still the weakest?"  
"I suppose."  
Andulvar looked at her hands. "Aren't you going to eat?"  
"Do you possibly have fruit?"  
"It's protein."  
"Yes, but I normally don't eat meat as a first course."  
Andulvar stared at her and sighed. "Well, your highness, choke it down tonight and I'll see about tomorrow."  
"Hey, you two!" Lekar called, waving his arm. "Room for one more?"  
Maltarian paled a little, but Andulvar motioned his friend up. "I should get back to--"  
"What did you do to your hand?" Lekar asked, examining the bruise that was starting to form.  
"It's just from the hammer. Nothing at all."  
"Lady, I think you should go to the infirmary. It might be broken."  
"Yaw gnikcuf on," she mumbled. "Not you, too?"  
"What?"  
"She's surprised that you know she's female," Andulvar said slyly.  
"Does everyone know?" Maltarian asked, exasperated.  
Andulvar and Lekar laughed. "That's a good one, Lady." Lekar said, sitting down next to Maltarian. "The only ones who know are the ones who can see the difference. All the others are interested in pushing you into the dirt."  
"Temar and Jhakar will realize it eventually," Andulvar said quietly, staring at nothing.  
"And Jhakar will put up a fight about it. Probably make a small attempt to seduce her."  
"What?!" Maltarian exclaimed, her shock unanswered as the guys on either side of her continued to talk.  
"I won't let him," Andulvar said, a little angrily.  
Lekar looked from Andulvar to Maltarian, meeting her wondering gaze. He looked back at Andulvar and grinned. "You like her, don't you?"  
"Of course not, Lekar!" Andulvar said, standing up. "She's supposed to be male, remember? Besides, Jhakar just pisses me off to no end."  
"Uh-huh," Lekar answered, not believeing him for a minute. "Whatever you say, Prince Yaslana." He wrapped one arm around Maltarian's shoulders. "If that's the case, then you won't mind if I show her the affection you won't?" He pulled her closer, almost laughing at the look on his friend's face.  
"Hold it a moment!" Maltarian screamed, and both guys looked at her. "How are you to know that I'm not promised to someone else?"  
"I don't see a ring," Lekar said, inspecting her hands.  
"I'm only fifteen. I just made my Offering."  
"Looks like she's a step ahead of you, Andulvar."  
"Tcejbus eht degnahc yeht. Ti eveileb ton od i," Maltarian mumbled, rubbing her temples. "Who's this Jhakar person?"  
"A bad guy. He just barely made it into our bunker. His Birthright is Opal, Offering is Red," Andulvar said, scanning the grounds quickly, then looking at his charge.  
"Him and Andulvar have a not-so-pleasant background. Though he doesn't come close anymore, Jhakar still holds a bit of fondess for Yaslana." Lekar shrugged, and gave her a soft smile. "He's a tormentor, but we won't let him touch you." Lekar looked at his friend, and stood up. "I'll see you guys later. Goodnight, Lady, and welcome to the camp." He left without another word.  
Maltarian looked at Andulvar. "So, he'll see me tonight?"  
"Most likely," Andulvar said stretching out on the roof. "Are you scared?"  
"No...not really." She took a bite out of her sandwich.  
Andulvar sat with her in silence for a few minutes. "What are the meals like at Ebon Kae?"  
"Depends on your upbrining. Most of the families who work for us have bread, vegetables, and whatever meat they buy at the market."  
"Are they poor?"  
"Oh no, Ebon Kae and the three other countries are bountiful. Though Pandorians don't much like us, and the Dea al Mon in Illume are hard to reach, we do a lot of trading with Kartuka."  
Andulvar filed those names for later questioning. "What do your servants eat?"  
"What's left of our meals, along with what the cook prepares."  
"What do you eat?"  
"First course is a salad. Second course is fruit, crackers, and cheese. Third course is our meat. Sometimes we have soup instead. Then dessert, which is usually something small."  
"Can't imagine why. You got a good chef?"  
"No, he's terrible," Maltarian said sarcastically. "He cooks rats, and everything he serves is rotten. The only reason we keep him is because he's my father's nephew. No one has the heart to tell h--AAAH!" 

Lekar walked across the field, humming to himself with a pleasant little secret.  
"Boy, what are you doing up?"  
Lekar stopped walking, looking around.  
Calcivar approached him, a lantern in his hand. "Curfew was a little while ago, Shirley."  
"That's not even an Eyrien name," Lekar said, irritated.  
Calcivar had a feral smile. "Lekar, I'm surprised you're still annoyed with the name-calling."  
"I imagine your face on the tree that I'm sticking my arrows in as I practice, sir," he responded quickly.  
Calcivar laughed.  
"I was just heading back to my bunker after visiting with Andulvar and Maltar."  
"Maltar?"  
"A new recruit. He came this morning. Him and Andulvar fought and tore up the camp."  
"Yeah, I saw Andulvar working on the fencing."  
"Maltar was fixing your bunker roof."  
"Did some damage?"  
"Giant boomerang smashed the roof in. Spent all day fixing that. They were in the middle of dinner."  
Calcivar nodded. "Go ahead and get to bed."  
Lekar ran off until he was sure Calcivar couldn't see him. He turned around, searching for the lantern light. "Shirley? I think he's getting closer to HAVING to call me by my name." He walked into his bunker, joking with a few of his friends before light's out.

"Now, tell me again what happened," the Instructor asked as the camp nurse bandaged Maltarian's arm and hand.  
Andulvar and Maltarian started talking at once.  
"QUIET!" He screamed, his head throbbing. He had asked three times already, and neither one would yeild to the other. "Maltar, you first."  
"I was telling Andulvar about my life back home. He got mad at a little bit of sarcasm and pushed me off of the roof."  
"I didn't push you!" Andulvar defended quickly. "I saw you slipping on the roofing, and I reached out to keep you from falling. I missed you just by a few seconds."  
"Who offers help with their foot?"  
"It was closer than my hand."  
"The roofing wasn't loose, I'll have you know. Secondly, you're a bastard."  
"Tell me something I don't know."  
"You're a prick, too."  
"How original."  
"Andulvar out!" The Instructor yelled, ending the small spat between the two.  
"You should leave, too, sir," the nurse suggested.  
"Why?"  
"I have to do a complete physical. She fell off of a roof." She looked at the Instructor with an I-know-better-than-you look.  
He left without another word.  
"Now, my hands are a bit cold, but I think you'll survive."  
"Do I need to take off my clothes or something?" Maltarian asked warily.  
"Oh Mother Night, no!" The nurse laughed. "I thought you could use a break from the male arrogance."  
Maltarian jumped at the cold touch on her back. "Thanks...I guess."  
The nurse continued talking to her as she worked. "I don't know why he insists to use a male name when I know very well you are female."  
"I suppose he wants to keep up the charade. When one person knows, doesn't it flow through the camp?"  
"Depends on who knows." She inspected Maltarian's wings. "These are unique. Not like anyone else around here."  
"The exact opposite at home."  
"And such an unusual pattern, too."  
"Hm?"  
"White and black. A row of black. A few white, then more black."  
Maltarian plaed. "I'm molting!" she cried, jumping off the table and pacing the rom. She rustled her wings every few minutes, pulling at the feathers she could reach.  
"Can I help?" The nurse asked, inspecting a feather.  
"I need...paint."  
"I meant with the molting."  
Maltarian walked out of the room, leaving a trail of black painted feathers.  
The Instructor peered in a few seconds later, eyed the room, and left, smirking.

"Slow down," Andulvar called, trying to catch up to Maltarian. "Your feathers are falling out."  
"Don't remind me," Maltarian called back, speeding up.  
"How long until they turn black?"  
"They don't."  
Andulvar caught a feather from Maltarian's ever-twitching wings, feathers falling out at every step. "You can't get them all."  
"Can and will."  
"Maltar!" He grabbed the frame of her wings, jerking her to a stop.  
She took a few steps back, and fell on her ass. When she tried to get up, she was pushed back down by Andulvar.  
"Sit still." He started pulling at the feathers near the middle of her back.  
"I can get them myself."  
"It's faster like this. Besides, you'd have a hard time reaching."  
Maltarian sat, steaming as Andulvar went through her wings, feather by feather. At the end of ten minutes, Andulvar let her stand up, vanishing the collection of black feathers. She rustled her wings, settling them back into place.  
"Are the rest going to fall out tomorrow?"  
"Between tonight and tomorrow afternoon."  
"Good. You look like a cow."  
"WHAT?"  
"You're spotted black and white."  
Maltarian pushed him. "They're all going to be white soon enough."  
"And what color will they be after the next molt?" He started walking toward the bunker.  
Maltarian looked at him like he was crazy. "They will be white, like they were when I was born."  
"So why were they black?"  
"It's a mark of the guard. When held in the light, the pattern is more noticeable."  
"So, an assassin knows who to eliminate?"  
"We don't paint feathers black to mark our own men, Andulvar."  
"If they're seen, they'll be killed."  
"There's a method to our madness. If you ever go, I'll show you around." Maltarian stopped at the door. "You coming?"  
"In a minute." He watched her walk into the bunker, listening to the many welcomes from the inhabitants. He pulled out a feather, looking at it in the light from the bunker. Just when the feathers caught the light, the door opened.  
"Yaslana," Calcivar called, "get your ass in here before Temar comes. Light's out was ages ago."  
Andulvar pocketed the feather, and entered to a scrambling of warriors. Some were showing off while others had just gotten back from the showers. Jhakar's pupil was sharpening blades, and Calcivar had a whetting stone in one hand while holding the door with the other.  
"The new kid's next to your bed. He sent Jhakar away with a piercing gray glare."  
"That's...good," Andulvar said, walking to his bed.  
"What's wrong, Yaslana?" someone called. "Too much hard work today?"  
Andulvar looked behind him and waved off the question.  
Maltarian looked up at his approach. "Took you long enough."  
"What do you think you're doing?"  
"Taking off my shoes and going to sleep."  
"And what if this was someone's bed? They'd want to fight."  
"I can fight."  
"Not with an injured arm."  
Maltarian though for a moment, and looked at him. "I guess I would have to call you for assistance. But considering my Jewels are darker," she indicated the people around her, "than most in here." She shrugged and laid on the bed.  
"Are you going to finish that sentence?" Andulvar asked, annoyed. _She has as much arrogance as an Eyrien male,_ he though while he waited for a response.  
"I don't need to. It might damage your pride. I mean, I do wear darker Jewels than y--"  
"You bitch!" Andulvar screamed, bringing the attention of the whole bunker to him and Maltarian. He took a quick glance at the others, then sat on Maltarian's bed, back turned to the rest of them. "Listen, you. You can't do this," he said in a harsh whisper.  
"Why not?" she whispered back.  
"Because you're not--" He looked next to the bed. "Scram kid," he hissed, and the boy ran to the other side of the bunker. "You're not stronger than I am."  
"You wear Red. I wear Gray. I don't see the problem."  
"The problem is that I haven't made the Offering. You, on the other hand, are all out of luck. Play this stupid arrogance stunt anymore and guys are going to want to throw you down into the dirt."  
"Then let them." She raised her voice. "And save the name-calling for the actual bitches, Yaslana."  
Andulvar glared at her as Temar entered the bunker.  
"Light's out was twenty minutes ago," he lectured as the younger boys ran to their beds.  
Andulvar climbed under his blankets, facing the wall.  
Andulvar? Maltarian called on a Red spear-thread.  
Go away. Andulvar responded.  
I'm sorry. She broke the link, looking out of the window at the moon.

The next morning, Andulvar conducted the screamer next to Maltarian's bed. With one word, the boy started screaming.  
Maltarian sat up, knocking into a bucket of water, which poured over her.  
"Run along, kid," Andulvar said, practically tossing the boy out of the door.  
"You bastard," Maltarian said, climbing out of the bed. "I'll have you know I have to sleep there tonight."  
"Oh relax." He pulled her close. "It will dry by then."  
Maltarian took a step back. "What if someone sees us like this? They'll find out."  
"Everyone's on the field. No one's around to find out." He placed his hand on her lower back to keep her from moving.  
"What are you doing?"  
"Staking my claim as an Eyrien male and a Warlord Prince." He kissed her forehead.  
She smacked him. "You can't do that."  
"Why not?"  
"Because someone has already claimed me as his bride." She pushed at him.  
He let her go, holding on to her wrist. "You weren't joking?"  
"NO! I'm royalty. What did you expect?"  
"You said--"  
"Mother Night! Are you really that blind?"  
"You don't have to suffer an arranged marriage."  
"Any more breeding with YOUR knd, and my family can't hold the position we almost lost."  
"What?"  
"Don't worry about it." She pulled out a shirt from her bag. "Why aren't you on the field?"  
"I have to go somewhere--Maltarian, there has to be someway...reconsider."  
"Reconsider? Reconsider what?"  
"The marriage."  
"There's nothing to reconsider! It's what's best for my family and my people."  
"I bet I'm stronger."  
"I bet you are." She walked to the door, but Andulvar held it closed. "Prince Yaslana, please let me go."  
"If I can beat him in a battle, will you let me have a chance?"  
Maltarian sighed. "Andulvar Yaslana, you met me yesterday, and we fought."  
"Because you hit me."  
"Doesn't matter. How can you fight someone and then want them the next day? It just doesn't happen."  
Andulvar let go of the door, opening it for her. "I'll be back tonight, and then we'll talk."  
"About what?"  
Andulvar shrugged and left.  
"That...bastard."

Maltarian spent the whole day with Lekar. They trained together, Lekar teacher her what he could while Andulvar was out. "So where is he?" Maltarian asked at dinner. "I know you know."  
Lekar shrugged. "I _know_ he's in Askavi."  
"Oh really?" she replied sarcastically.  
"And I'm sure he's probably with his folks."  
Maltarian gave him an angry glare and stood up. "I'm going to bed."  
"Should I walk you?" Lekar asked jokingly.  
"Up yours." She emptied the tray and left. She walked quickly to the bunker. "Andul--oh." She carefully moved to Andulvar's bed.  
Andulvar opened his eyes when Maltarian touched his shoulder. "What are you doing here?"  
"I live in this place, too, you know."  
Andulvar closed his eyes. "Just keep the noise down."  
"Where were you?"  
"Out."  
"Andulvar, you were gone all day."  
"I was out all day."  
She frowned. "Where."  
"The Keep."  
"The Keep?"  
Andulvar rolled onto his back, sitting up with Maltarian's help. He pulled out a small bag from under his pillow. "The keep at Ebon Kae is where we make the Offering."  
"Except for me."  
"Except for you," he agreed, and pulled out an Ebon-gray Jewel. Maltarian looked at it in awe. "Will you reconsider?"  
"Huh?" she asked absent-mindedly.  
Andulvar closed his hand. "Will you reconsider?"  
Maltarian sighed. "Not this again."  
"Yes, this again."  
"Andulvar--"  
"Lady--"  
The bunker door opened, and Jhakar stepped in, smiling wickedly. "Well well well. What do we have here? A Prince and his wife."  
Andulvar and Maltarian watched him warily.  
"Oh yeah, I know. It didn't take that long after last night." He pulled Maltarian up, cupping her chin. "The feral beauty only a woman can possess. Dangerous, raw, and powerful."  
"Get your hands off of me!" She slapped him. "I'm not your doll."  
He pulled out one of her remaining black feathers. "Lady, I'm not stupid."  
"If you weren't stupid, then you'd let her go," Andulvar said, standing up part-way, then falling back down.  
"Andulvar..." Maltarian began.  
Jhakar pushed Maltarian out of the way, walking to Andulvar. "Boy have I waited for this day. Andulvar Yaslana, weakened by his Offering. No way to defend himself."  
Andulvar threw his pillow at Jhakar. "Back off."  
Jhakar pushed the pillow to the side, forcing Andulvar down.  
"Get the hell off of me!" Andulvar shouted, throwing weak punches at Jhakar.  
Jhakar grabbd his arms and climbed on top of Andulvar, pinning him down.  
Maltarian pulled him off of Andulvar, slamming Jhakar against a wall. With her Gray Jewels, she threw him out of the bunker. "Stay here," she shouted as Andulvar stood up, bracing himself on the wall. She ran out of the bunker, hands on fire.  
Andulvar walked slowly toward the door, hand on the wall for balance. The sound of breaking wood hurried his pace toward the door. He opened the door, taking a large step down on the side of the broken staircase. A crowd started to gather, Opal to Gray Jeweled warriors. Andulvar quickly scanned the crowd.  
"Yaslana!" Temar shouted, rushing over with Lekar on his heels. "Where are they?" he asked, steadying Andulvar.  
"Not on the ground."  
"Everyone into your bunkers, and don't move unless it comes crashing around your ears."  
The ground just stood there as Lekar and Andulvar scanned the skies. They finally scattered into a big ring as Maltarian slammed Jhakar into the ground, pulling out a foot above the ground, and running into a Green-Jeweled Warlord.  
"Hold her," Temar ordered, picking Jhakar up from the crater the fall had created. The Warlord was limp in his arms, and Temar silently prayed that he was just unconscious.  
Maltarian broke the hold on her as Temar lay Jhakar on the ground. "He's mine," she roared, pushing Temar out of the way. She lunged at Jhakar, but was knocked to the side by Andulvar. "Get off of me, Yaslana!"  
"Not until you calm down to see that you've done enough," Andulvar screamed, trying hard to keep her pinned.  
"But I'm not done yet!" She swung at Andulvar, who grabbed her wrist.  
Temar went to Andulvar's aid while Lekar inspected Jhakar. It didn't take long for Lekar to pronounce him dead.  
The ring of people spread out and seperated. Temar and Andulvar held on to Maltarian as Lekar carried Jhakar's body. "What have you done?" Temar whispered in Maltarian's ear on the way ot the center of the camp. They stopped outside a brown building. "Lekar, take him to the nurse to make sure he's absolutely dead"  
"No offense, sir, but if he isn't dead, he'd want to be," Lekar responded, and trudged to the infirmary.  
"Let her go, Andulvar."  
Maltarian fell forward when Andulvar let go. She quickly turned on them. "I could have finished the kill, Andulvar! Why didn't you let me?"  
"Because you're going to be deported!" Andulvar screamed. He pushed her, and she clung to his arms.  
"This isn't the time for a quarrel, you two. Maltarian, you're in serious shit." Temar seperated Maltarian and Andulvar. "Half the camp knows you're a girl, which will make them competitive. Word will spread, and you'll find yourself on the other side of the entrance gate."  
Maltarian grumbled and leaned against the wall, steaming. "So now what?"  
"You tell the Instructor what happened, and then pack your things and leave in the morning."  
"He can't kick me out for fighting!"  
"You killed him!" Andulvar exclaimed, pinning her to the wall. "What in the name of Hell were you thinking?"  
"Help you!"  
"You could have thrown him against the wall. What you did was uncalled for!"  
"You would have done the same!"  
"I wouldn't need to. Jhakar's just an idiot."  
"So what if I overreacted? Surely the Instructor's not dumb enough to tell his parents what had just happened."  
"What just happened?" The Instructor asked from the door a few feet away. "And don't lie to me."  
"Maltarian got into a fight, sir," Temar stated.  
"With Andulvar?"  
"Jhakar, sir," Maltarian said feebly when Temar wouldn't answer for her.  
"Where is he?"  
"The infirmary."  
"What happened?"  
Maltarian looked at Andulvar, who looked back with hard yellow eyes. "I was talking with Andulvar, and Jhakar came in. He put his hands on me, and I hit him. Andulvar tried to help me...but he's not all that strong right now." She looked down at the ground.  
"Jhakar went back to his old tricks with me," Andulvar filled in. "Maltarian shoved him against a wall, then threw him out of the cabin. They fought in the sky. We think he died when she drove him into the ground."  
The Instructor looked at Maltarian. "There is no place for murderers here. Though fighting is allowed to solve some altercations, killing results in deportation. Your social class or breed has no exception to that rule. I want you here when I tell his parents in a few days."  
"Yes, sir," Maltarian responded quietly.  
"Contact your family and tell them you're going home."  
"I can't!"  
The Instructor looked at her.  
"They...don't know I'm here."  
The Instructor slapped her. "Girl, you've caused me nothing but grief over the last few days. Straighten up your act, and I'll consider sending you home with escorts." He turned to Temar. "Take her back, and inform Jhakar's trainee that he's being switched to your command."  
Temar nodded, and marched Maltarian back to the bunker.  
"What about me?" Andulvar asked when they were out of earshot.  
"How are you feeling?"  
"My blood's rushing, but I don't know how much longer I can stand."  
"Go to the infirmary. Tell Lucian to report to me, and get something from her to add some pep to you...enough to get back and into bed"  
"Yes, sir." Andulvar turned on his heels and strolled down the path.

Word was out by breakfast the next morning. Lekar had come back to report it. Instead of wearing the loose baggy clothes that hid her slim figure, she wore a fitted halter top, and a skirted slit all the way up her thigh on both sides. Her whole outfit was white and she went without shoes.  
"I don't like that," Andulvar said when she dropped the sight shield. He stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the wall. "You're revealing too much. I'm not sure you can fight in that."  
"Andulvar...stop worrying. You're a big bad Warlord Prince. You can defend me. "She packed her old clothes into her bag and swapped it for another bag. "Let's go."  
Andulvar walked by her side, close to her. "If anyone puts their hands on you, I'm killing them."  
"You'll be deported."  
Andulvar was silent for a moment, then responded, "Guess I'll have to go home with you."  
Maltarian rolled her eyes and quickened her pace. Andulvar kept up with ease, grinning at her. "We can do this all day, Lady."  
"You're so full of yourself."  
Andulvar replied with a suggestive comment and watched Maltarian change colors with fury and embarrassment. "Don't feel so bad. A lot of girls look."  
"Then go find one of them to be your doll. I'm not available nor interested!" She stalked away, leaving Andulvar content with knowing he had pissed her off.

"I don't get it, Andulvar. If you like her, why od you torment her? Little kids do that, not an eighteen-year-old Eyrien," Lekar stated, dumping his tray.  
"I like it when she's angry, when rage is running through her. She's beautiful when she's dangerous."  
"You're going to make me sick."  
Andulvar pushed him. "Have you seen her? Maybe we'll practice together, the three of us."  
"Just as long as you don't drool." He stood at the top of the hill and looked out at the practice field below. "I don't see her."  
"She's white! How can you miss her?" Andulvar stood beside Lekar. "Maybe someone else saw her."  
They walked throughout the training grounds, asking anyone they came across. One of the new kids answered as they walked by.  
"You looking for the taste-looking Lady?" he asked, a gleam in his eye.  
"You seen her?" Andulvar asked, showing no emotion.  
"I saw a LOT of her. She's got a nice shape."  
"Where'd she go?" Lekar asked before Andulvar became any more irritated.  
"She went into the woods over there." He pointed to a grouping of trees.  
Andulvar allowed himself to be steered away, turning quickly when the boy kept talking. "I"m going to beat the shit out of that little brat!"  
"Calm down, he doesn't know anything." Lekar continued to push Andulvar into the wooded area.  
It wasn't too far in when they found Maltarian, dancing on the water like a feather. The water spiraled around her up to her knees, but went no higher. Maltarian let the water drop back down, exasperated.  
Lekar left Andulvar to watch her behind bushes, walking back to the camp alone.

Andulvar watched Maltarian, unaware of his surroundings as Maltarian danced in ribbons of fire and water. He leaned forward, breaking sticks as his hands moved for balance.  
Maltarain stopped dancing and scanned the area around her. "Who's there?"  
Andulvar didn't move, throwing a sight shield around himself.  
Maltarian started to dance on the other side of the spring, away from Andulvar.  
Carefully, Andulvar moved around until he was right in front of her. Without warning, he launched at Maltarian when her back was turned, dropping the sight shield as he hit the water. He was the first one up, and grinned at Maltarian when she looked over the water.  
"What are you doing here?" she asked, standing.  
"I was looking for you." He started swimming around her. "What are you doing here?"  
"I'm practicing." She turned to watch him.  
"Magic?"  
"I'm a shaman. A High Priestess in your terms."  
"And a Lady of the royal court? Busy woman."  
"It's the role I was born into. My sisters practice the same spells."  
"You have sisters?"  
"Twins. They're older than me." She looked away. "They're not interested in guys like you."  
Andulvar stood up behind her, his hands running up her thighs and over her stomach. "Guys with dark Jewels, or Eyrien males?" he whispered into her ear. "You know, it doesn't matter."  
"Both, for your information. Please get your hands off of me."  
"Are you nervous?"  
"No."  
"You're shaking." He rubbed her arms, holding her close.  
"Yaslana--"  
He kissed her neck, holding her arms.  
"I can't let you do this."  
"You know how to make a Warlord Prince mad, don't you?"  
She turned her head to look at him. "It's not intentional."  
"I bet he doesn't love you."  
"I don't know him, so I can't say." She sank into the water.  
Andulvar waded to the bank of the spring and sat down.  
Maltarian moved silently under the water.  
"You'll have to come up for air sometime."  
Her head bopped above the water for a few seconds, and she disappeared again. She raised herself onto the shore next to him. "Andulvar, social classes do separate us, but if you can manage to charm my father, and defeat--not kill--my fiance, then you will have my hand." She looked at him with stern eyes. "Until such time, touching me is prohibited."  
"Then don't wear those clothes."  
"They're easy to fight in." She stood up, twirling quickly in a torrent of fire. When she stopped, she was completely dry. "Get up, and let's dry you off."  
Andulvar stood up as commanded. "I'm not spinning."  
"I figured as much." She summoned a staff, and covered Andulvar in fire.

The warriors on the practice field watched as Andulvar trudged behind Maltarian, who walked with a swan's grace.  
"Maltarian!" Calcivar called, running toward's the two. "Maltarian, you have visitors."  
Maltarian looked at Andulvar, who shrugged. "What do they look like?"  
Calcivar spoke without thinking. "Like royalty ready to kick someone's ass." He couldn't understand why Maltarian looked so pale.  
"Thank you, Prince Calcivar." She took a few steps and turned around. "Perhaps, could you tell me which way they are?"  
"Just up and over near the Master's building."  
"Thank you...again." She headed off to the center of the camp, Andulvar still following her.

* * *

So..that's the end of the first part. Since I'm in the process of moving. I have no real way of writing more stuff down than on my computer. But let me know what you think (and please don't mention typos, I tried hard to get rid of them as best I could). Be nice in your comments please. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **No, I still don't own Anne Bishop's characters/places. I can guarantee that it won't change between the last chapter, and the many more to come. However, all other characters/places are mine. Thanks for your time.

**Warning**: No one under the age of fifteen should read this. There is some language, adult situations, and some language. You've been warned.

* * *

**PREVIOUSLY**

The warriors on the practice field watched as Andulvar trudged behind Maltarian, who walked with a swan's grace.

"Maltarian!" Calcivar called, running toward the two. "Maltarian, you have visitors."

Maltarian looked at Andulvar, who shrugged. "What do they look like?"

Calcivar spoke without thinking. "Like royalty ready to kick someone's ass." He couldn't understand why Maltarian looked so pale.

"Thank you, Prince Calcivar." She took a few steps and turned around. "Perhaps, could you tell me which way they are?"

"Just up and over the hill, near the Master's building."

"Thank you...again." She headed off to the center of the camp, Andulvar still following her.

* * *

She stopped her quick-paced march when she was in sight of a pale woman and a tall man; both were talking to the head of the camp. She took a few steps back, composed herself, and walked to the both of them as if she had been rehearsing it for the longest time. "Rehtaf, rehtom," she greeted, bowing in Eagle-Eyrien custom. 

Andulvar stood a few feet away watching the three interact, speaking in the foreign tongue that slipped from Maltarian's mouth whenever she'd get really angry, or when she didn't want to be understood or overheard. He still had no clue what she said. After all, he had only been with her for three days. After a few minutes of trying to find the resemblance between Maltarian and her parents, Andulvar was motioned over by the head of the camp.

"Rethguad ym gnihctaw neeb sah ohw yob eht si siht?" the tall man asked.

"Rehtaf, dnatsrednu ton od yeht," Maltarian said quickly after noticing that both Andulvar and the Instructor had confused looks on their faces. "They do not understand, father."

"Em rof etalsnart neht. Si dlihc siht rethgif a fo doog woh wonk ot tnaw i."

"Baba," a pet name, "Retsam snopaew delliks yrev a si eh. ecneirepxe morf wonk i."

The man seemed to get angry at this news. His face had become a radish pink color. "Meht ksa, em llet ton od. Rotalsnart ym era uoy. Etalsnart!"

"His highness would like to know how good of a fighter Andulvar is," Maltarian informed the two. "Baba, uoy dlot ydaerla i."

The King opened his mouth to respond.

"He's the strongest fighter we have. He wears Ebon-gray Jewels," the instructor said, cutting short whatever the King had to say.

Maltarian looked like she could have died. She looked to her father, who seemed more angry than pleased. "Elohar, dab os ton si ti."

Andulvar stupidly wondered what "Elohar" meant in Eagle-Eyrien.

"Magyar htiw thgif. Gnivresed retteb eht si ohw ees llahs ew neht," Elohar said, summoning a darker-skinned Eagle-Eyrien from seemingly out of nowhere. "Thgif ot ydaer uoy era?"

Andulvar shifted uncomfortably. "Maltarian, what's going on?"

Maltarian didn't look at him while she responded. "Elohar wants you to fight with Magyar to see who better deserves my hand."

"I see." He summoned his blade casually, hiding it carefully so the others wouldn't see. "And what does Elohar mean?"

Maltarian looked at him, appalled. "Elohar is my father's name. Children aren't normally allowed to call their parents mother and father, though I, being the youngest of four children, was given some leniency when talking to them." She shook her head. "But that could have waited until later. This is a no weapons brawl!"

Andulvar almost dropped his knife. "WHAT?"

"Magyar is here to defend the family honor because it wouldn't be logical to allow me to fight; however, my brother isn't very good with swords."

Andulvar looked at her quizzically. "And no weapons because?"

"It would be unfair. Magyar doesn't know how to use weapons. He fights with hands...and fire."

He almost fell over. "That hardly seems fair!! Fire is still a weapon. He knows how to control it."

"You're right. Baba, slleps esu ton nac Andulvar! Snopaew sih evah mih tel."

Elohar shrugged. "Yawyna esol lliw eh."

Maltarian looked horrified, and wouldn't tell Andulvar what her father said. "You can use weapons. Good luck." She kissed his cheek quickly before joining her mother some good distance away.

Andulvar looked to her for answers, but concentrated on Magyar when a fireball narrowly missed his shoulder. "You didn't say go," Andulvar said, hoping to throw the other off.

"Warriors do not need a beginning signal. In battle, warriors are expected to go when the time is right. Elohar, wols si Andulvar. Yrasivda yhtrow a ton si eh kniht i."

Maltarian's breath hitched. "Don't think, just fight!" she shouted to Andulvar, then was blocked from view by her father.

"Dlihc hsuh," Elohar ordered. "Yrassecen si ti fi mih llik."

"Baba!" Maltarian shouted. "Baba, hctam eht pots!"

Elohar looked at his daughter. "Yhw?"

"Otni flesmih gnitteg si eh tahw wonk ot sevresed Andulvar. Enil eht no sgnah efil sih elihw eugnot rehtona ni klat uoy taht raif ton si ti."

"Etalsnart ton uoy od yhw os? Uoy ot hcum taht snaem eh mih llet ton uoy od yhw? Gniyas ma i tahw mih llet ton uoy od yhw? Gniyas si Magyar tahw?"

"Ot dewolla ma i? Em pots ton lliw uoy?"

"Gnitalsnart morf? Em rof boj ruoy si taht."

"Time out!" Maltarian ordered, running to Magyar and Andulvar. "We need to talk," she said to them. "Magyar—"

"Maltarian, there is no way," Magyar said kindly. "What father says is rule. You know that."

"Baba just turned it into a death match!" Maltarian hissed. "You cannot do that! Andulvar is strong in this land. If he does not have my hand, then he will have that of another."

"Not likely," Andulvar mumbled. "Code dictates that Warlord Princes get a chance to court any available woman of their choosing. If they are turned down, then they move on."

Maltarian sighed heavily. "Andulvar, I've been telling you for the past few days. I'm not available. My groom has been chosen. You have no say."

"I think he should," Magyar put in quietly. He received shocked stares from Andulvar and Maltarian. "I would hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's obvious you're not happy with the arrangement. Just talk to father. I'm sure he'll understand." He brushed Maltarian's hair out of her face. "It won't be that hard. Besides, he loves you more than the rest of us. He'll listen to you more clearly."

"Then why hasn't he heard me yet? That's one reason why I left." She looked at Andulvar, then to the ground. "Besides, you two have been ordered to fight to the death. Baba's exact words were, 'Kill him if necessary.' He didn't say who would be killed."

"Then we'll end it in a draw."

"How?" Andulvar asked quickly.

"Like you end anything in a draw. I'm pretty handy with throwing knives. I can miss on purpose." He smiled ruefully. "Hitting anything alive makes me sad. I'm not much of a warrior."

Andulvar nodded in understanding.

"Maltarian, count the paces, will you? And let me borrow your knives."

The Eagle-Eyrien princess pulled out a set of six throwing knives, handing one to Andulvar and another to her brother. "Be careful. Both of you." She hugged Magyar, but hesitated when she turned to Andulvar.

He smiled quickly at her before masking his face with an indifferent expression. "Good luck," he said, extending his hand to Magyar, who shook it awkwardly. "We'll have to work on that." He stood facing Magyar patiently.

"One throw decides the winner," Maltarian announced to her parents. She turned to the warriors. "About face!" she bellowed, and they men turned so they were back to back. "Forward march!" She counted out loud ten steps, and called them to a halt. "At the ready. Aim. THROW!" She closed her eyes when she gave the command, afraid of what she'd see.

The knife Andulvar had possessed ended up against Magyar's shoe, embedded into the ground to the hilt. Magyar's knife, however, had made it ten feet behind Andulvar. It was obvious that Magyar had aimed for Andulvar's head while Andulvar assumedly aimed for something less vital on Magyar's anatomy—his foot.

Maltarian breathed a sigh of relief. "Ward a si ti!" she announced to her parents.

Elohar frowned. "Renniw on si ereht."

"Baba, Andulvar is…" She shrugged. "He is a good warrior. With some training, he could belong among those in Ebon Kae."

Elohar looked to his wife, who nodded slightly. "Neht tnaw eh seod tahw? Dnah ruoy teg ton seod eh."

Maltarian sighed. "Elohar, be reasonable! Surely, you don't actually want me to marry—"

"Of course I do!" Elohar screamed, throwing Andulvar off. It was spoken in the common tongue. "This…this _thing_ that you say is a good warrior is not worth your time."

Andulvar's temper flared. "Say what?"

Maltarian's face was red. "Father, you don't mean that."

"Please tell me he said something else," Andulvar demanded, grabbing on to Maltarian's arm.

"Andulvar, hush up." She turned to her father. "Elohar…father, please. This is my life, too."

"Sgniht ruoy kcap. Emoh gniog era ew."

Everything warrior-like about Maltarian, including the way she held her self in defense against her father, dropped away, and she became nothing more than a docile princess. There was no temper, anger, or power flowing through her body. She had receded so far into herself that she might as well have been an empty shell.

Andulvar pushed her away in disgust. He wanted the rebel in her, the unhindered girl who wasn't afraid to say no, to say how she felt, to deny him, a Warlord Prince, of even the simplest of human desires.

She looked at him with blank sapphire eyes as her father led her away. She glanced around the camp as if she had never been there before. Only Andulvar, who watched her walk away like she was taught as a child, was a solid, familiar anchor. She wanted to reach for him, the unspoken words hanging between them like a delicate thread. She wanted him to come for her, too. She wanted him to be her knight, to rescue her for the horrors of repetitious days and nights.

Yet he stood there, frowning with a furrowed brow, hands on his hips as if to deliver his final judgment of her, to say, "You didn't belong here, and you never will."

She wanted to hit him, but she wanted to cry more.

Maltarian sat on Andulvar's bed as her parents tore apart her sleeping area, collecting all of her items and getting rid of all the baggy clothes. She reached under Andulvar's pillow, pulling out the bag where his Ebon-gray Jewels rested. She tilted it, and a single Jewel rolled out onto her hand, designating itself as male. _So where are the others?_ She asked herself as she turned the stone over in her hand. She slid it back into the bag, then vanished it. She called in a piece of paper and a pen, and scribbled a note on it, shoving it under Andulvar's pillow when the ink dried. Maltarian looked at the guys in the bunker.

Each had the expression on their faces as if they had something to say. Calcivar took a step forward, standing uneasily in the middle of the aisle.

"Save it," Maltarian said softly.

"You can't go out like this," Calcivar responded.

"I killed someone. I would have been thrown out anyway." She stood, leading her parents out of the bunker.

Calcivar stopped her at the door. "Maltar…please."

Maltarian rolled her eyes. "I'm female. My name is _Maltarian_."

"You're as much an equal with the rest of us. So Andulvar can possibly _break_ you…in more ways than one—"

"I don't want to hear about Andulvar." She dropped her gaze. "I have to go. If you'll excuse me."

Calcivar wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled the Eagle-Eyrien girl into a tight hug. "I'll miss your spunk, kid."

Maltarian squeezed his arm gently. _This is real. This could have been my life. I could have been a person instead of…of nothing_. "I have to go," she insisted, her voice strained.

Before Calcivar could properly let go, Elohar pulled Maltarian away and pushed her out of the door. "Mucs," he spat, his wife following obediently.

* * *

Andulvar fell onto his bed with a heavy thud, his face buried in his pillow. Though the bunker was populated with warriors, there was nothing but impenetrable silence as each man stewed in his own thoughts. None of them would admit it, but each loved having her in the bunker because they wanted to be the ones to jump up and defend her, because the Warlord Princes wanted to be able to exercise their right to court a woman, because they all knew that she was as strong as any of them. She was their prize, and no one in the bunker expected her to leave so soon. 

Calcivar changed constantly between looking out of the window near his bed and the empty bed that belonged to Maltarian when she was there. "How long was she here?" he asked absent-mindedly.

"Three days," Temar said, closing the door softly behind him. "She was here three days, and she tore up half of the camp and killed someone in that time."

Andulvar rolled onto the floor, out of view.

"Something wrong, Andulvar?"

The Ebon-gray Warlord Prince didn't respond.

A Red-Jeweled Warlord looked over at the still Andulvar. "That fall wasn't enough to kill him," he reported.

"I'm betting he wishes he was dead anyway," Calcivar whispered to Temar, who nodded in agreement. Calcivar sat on the edge of Andulvar's bed, looking over at the still mass on the floor. "Looks like she left you a note," he mentioned casually, opening the piece of paper Maltarian had left under Andulvar's pillow.

"Read it," Andulvar said, the pillow muffling his voice to an almost inaudible sound.

"Prince Yaslana," Calcivar began, and smirked as his eyes scanned the rest of the page. "You sure you want me to read this allowed?"

Andulvar nodded, but looked curiously at the Warlord Prince on his bed.

"Prince Yaslana," Calcivar began again, acting as if he had written the letter himself. "Please forgive me, but I took the Ebon-gray Jewel you had under your pillow. It seems I couldn't help myself, and the Jewel magically found its way into my shirt." He stifled a laugh, glancing at Andulvar. "I guess I took it so I wouldn't forget about the world outside of my home, about this camp that I'd really like to come back to, but mostly, I took it so I wouldn't forget about you."

Andulvar lunged at Calcivar, who leaped out of the way, continuing to read it out loud despite the attempts on his life by the blushing Ebon-gray Warlord Prince.

"I would like you to know that I'm reconsidering my marriage, though I can't say I'd touch upon your proposal. You're crude, brash, and, quite honestly, I don't think you're all together right in the mind."

Andulvar's mouth dropped, his reddened cheeks now drained of color.

"Of course, I'll need time to think it over seriously, time that you had no intentions of providing. Come to Ebon Kae in a year, and I'll be more than happy to return your Jewel, as well as give you my answer."

Andulvar sat on his bed as Calcivar finished up.

"I hope you don't forget about me. I'd be very hurt if you found another in my stead. Love always, Maltarian Analysse Rosanoff." Calcivar looked over the top of the note at Andulvar. "After three days, you asked her to marry you?"

"No, after three days, I was still trying to get through her thick head that an arranged marriage is not the best of ideas, and that on the mainland of this realm, it is socially accepted that Warlord Princes can have the chance to court any single woman of his choosing."

"She was engaged."

"She couldn't prove it until I was put into a death match with her brother."

Calcivar smiled, and handed the note back to Andulvar. "You're out a Jewel. What are you going to do?"

"Work with what I have. It's a male's jewel now. She can't do anything but look at it."

"Do you miss her?"

Andulvar looked at the note, at the neatly practiced handwriting of a noblewoman. "Where will I be next year?" he asked to no one in particular.

Calcivar and Temar looked at each other. "Probably still here," the latter responded, resting his hand on Andulvar's shoulder. "Next year you get your own little minion following you around."

Andulvar shook his head. "I want to go. One year from now, I want to find this Ebon Kae place."

"That's such a unique name!" Calcivar shouted, getting a few chuckles from the quiet men. "Black White, literally."

"Maybe it means something different to them?" Andulvar offered. "She does speak another tongue."

"Oh yes, I've heard it. She's quite the foul-mouthed young Lady, now isn't she, Yaslana?"

Andulvar smiled, remember how much he loved to see her angered, her face flushed red in contrast to her sapphire-changing-to-gray eyes. How he would have loved to kiss her while she was angry, just to catch her off guard. How he would have loved to be the one to piss her off on a daily basis just to say he loved her when she threatened to ignore him or leave.

"Andulvar?"

He looked up. The whole bunker was staring back at him.

"Why do you look like you have a dirty secret?"

"I don't," he replied casually, looking out of the window. "The moon is—"

* * *

"So bright," Maltarian said as her lady's maid hung up the wedding dress. 

"The moon is always bright," was the response, the same response that was voiced every night for the past year since Maltarian returned from the camp at Askavi. The maid was expected to agree with her mistress. One wrong word due to a voice of opinion could cost the maid her job. "Is there anything else you need, Lady?"

Maltarian looked at her maid, who stood patiently by the dress. "In your honest opinion, female to female, am I doing the right thing?"

The maid stood quietly for a few minutes, thinking of what it was like in Maltarian's position. "As the youngest daughter, I'm not sure it is practical for you to take on such a big role. As the purest Eagle-Eyrien descendant of your father's, it only seems logical that you should take the throne."

Maltarian shook her head, summoning the Ebon-gray Jewel. "I meant marrying Pyro."

"You have two duties right now, Lady. The choices in front of you are difficult ones to make."

"Well, why can't I have both? You said it yourself that I'm the purest Eagle-Eyrien of my father's line. Why can't I have him, and take on my role as Queen, too?" She looked back to the night sky, gripping the Ebon-gray Jewel so tightly, she was sure it would end up embedded in her palm. "Why do I need to be married to be Queen anyway? Did you know that it's not like that on the mainland? Did you know a Queen was more than a figurehead?"

"You can be more than a figurehead, my lady. You have the power to change the way we live, for the better."

"The Council won't listen to me. They'll listen to my husband, the_Prince_ of Ebon Kae." She looked at her maid with troubled sapphire eyes. "You can go now. And take the dress with you. I don't care what you do with it, but I'm not wearing it tomorrow." When the maid stood there, her eyes turned a frozen gray, and she shouted, "GET OUT OF HERE!"

The maid ran through the door, the dress trailing behind her in the wind.

Maltarian vanished the Jewel before she turned it into dust. She climbed in on one side of her too large bed, facing the empty side. She hugged one of her pillows tightly. "I don't miss him," she said sternly, trying to fool herself that Andulvar didn't matter, even after a year of being without him, of telling herself the same thing every night. "I miss being surrounded by people who respected me for strength, not because I'm in line for the crown. They respected me because I was an equal." She pushed the pillow away angrily, turning away from it. She closed her eyes to forget him, and then she was dreaming.

* * *

She looked at herself in the mirror, the hideous, bulky-sleeved dress covering everything but her head and hands. This was a traditional dress of her ancestors. She blacked out the mirror, and she would do so as she walked through the halls of the palace, and all the way to the altar. No pictures would be taken of her in such an exaggerated dress. In fact, she should put a sight shield on her so no one had the chance. 

"This dress is repulsive and ancient," she said to herself, spinning around to watch it flare out. "Traditions can change, can't they?" She wished her mother was there, so Maltarian could voice her complaints in person.

Then, the long-awaited knock sounded through the room, and the princess took a deep breath to steady herself. The door opened slowly, and Magyar peered in.

"It's time," he said, offering his sister an arm.

She took it gratefully, holding on to his arm tightly. Whether it was out of nervousness or fear of losing her balance while walking in the shoes that were specifically made for the dress, she wasn't sure, but it was a comfort to have him there.

"You look beautiful," he whispered, smiling kindly.

"It's not nice to lie," Maltarian teased, then regretted her words when she saw the hurt in her brother's eyes. "I was only playing."

Magyar stopped her in front of two double doors, holding her hands in his. "Whatever happens in there," he whispered in the Eagle-Eyrien tongue, "know that I will never look down on you. You have the makings of a great leader and a great warrior. You, above everyone else, deserve to be happy."

Maltarian could feel the tears build up, blurring her vision. "Uoy Knaht," she responded. "Thank you."

Her brother opened the doors, and rows of people stood up to watch her enter, to watch her make the biggest mistake of her life.

As Maltarian walked between the rows of people, the world seemed to stop turning. Each breath was arduous, and her breathing was raspy in her ear. Her palms sweated drastically, and she wondered if she was doing the right thing. She wondered if she would have been allowed an extension for just a little more consideration about the marriage, if she had asked for it from the right person, of course. She wondered how life would change; married at sixteen to a man she had met at the altar a year ago. She wondered if all brides' hands sweated as much while approaching the altar. She wondered what passed through her mother's head when she took the leap of faith to marry Elohar.

Maltarian stopped suddenly, just paces away from where she was supposed to stand. Her stomach was beginning to rise, the thought of running to find the nearest wastebasket coming to mind seemingly too late.

"Are you all right?" a deep voice asked, and the princess froze.

_I know that voice_, she thought, not daring to move. _It can't be him. It isn't him_. She closed her eyes, hoping the man would disappear.

Someone placed their hand gently on her shoulder, helping her to the altar.

Maltarian took the chance to turn around, the burning desire to see him once more pushing her to look fate in the eyes and deny it.

A pair of golden eyes stared back at her. They were solid, strong, sure. They were warm, welcoming, wary. They were his eyes, Andulvar's eyes.

* * *

Maltarian sat up, hugging her pillow. _It was a dream_, she told herself, looking around the brightened room. _Just a dream._ She set her pillow down and climbed out of bed, walking quietly to her dresser. She would dress as if she were going in front of the Council. In a way, she was. All the members would be there, and she would make the best speech she will ever regret. 

Her wedding dress hung on the inside of the door where her uniform should have been. Instead of white leggings and a sky blue jacket with gold decorations, there was a gold dress with a white section that went all the way down to the floor. Instead of nicely polished boots, there was a pair of stilettos that would test her balance.

She shrieked, and Pyro opened the door immediately, giving the hint that he had been waiting just outside of the door.

"What's wrong?" he asked, looking around quickly.

Maltarian called a vase to her, and threw it at him. "Get out!" she yelled, using craft to fix the vase so she could hit him with it as long as he stood in her doorway. "What are you doing here? Leave!"

"You screamed. I came to see what the problem was."

"The problem is this!" She grabbed her dress, flinging it at Pyro. Her native tongue gained a sharp edge to it. "This is not what I am expected to wear in front of the Council."

"As Queen, it is."

"Then I refuse. I want my clothes back."

"Your clothes aren't those of a woman's or a Queen's." He folded the dress over one arm. "Besides, you look better in dresses."

Maltarian was offended. Her eyes had become a steely, uncaring gray, and her nails sharpened themselves as if by magic. "Then why don't you wear the dresses?" she spat as she pushed her way past him. Her canine teeth had grown into fangs, and her feathers, black instead of white, were beginning to ruffle. She passed by her lady's maid, who ran after the princess quickly.

"My lady, there is a group of people here to see you," the maid reported.

"I'm not in the mood," Maltarian hissed, her voice raspy.

"I was told that it's urgent business that needs to be taken care of right away."

Maltarian let out a sickly but angry groan, and pushed her way into the entrance hall, where a group of three men and a woman stood, waiting for their audience.

The foremost Eyrien male turned around, causing Maltarian to stop in her tracks and lower her eyes.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to mask the harshness of her voice.

"Are you all right?" he asked, reaching a hand out.

Maltarian slapped it out of her way. "I don't need your pity, Andulvar. What do you want? Why are you here?"

Andulvar pulled out the note Maltarian had written a year ago. "You told me to come."

Maltarain hissed at the note, ripping it to shreds. "Now's not a good time!"

"Trouble in paradise, or do you always wander around your house in your nightie?"

Maltarian looked at him. Her gray eyes appeared the same, but nothing in them was human. She was a beast of terror, a monster.

Andulvar felt his heart drop.

"What? Am I not as pretty anymore? Or should I pull out some of my hair before you decide that coming was a mistake?" she continued, her words scarring both of them.

Andulvar shook his head slowly, his breathing shallow.

"Then what is it?" Maltarian screamed viciously, baring her teeth.

"You're beautiful," he said quietly.

Maltarian's feathers smoothed out a little, her eyes uncertain. Her fangs rested against her bottom lip. "It's not nice to lie," she declared, and was shocked when Andulvar visibly sulked.

"I wasn't." He took a step forward, hurt more when Maltarian backed up to put more space between them. "Maltarian—"

The princess screamed. It sounded pained and unforgiving. "I'm not beautiful!" Maltarian pointed to the woman. "She's beautiful. She's normal. She's not bound to a life of duty."

Andulvar smiled. He wanted to laugh so much. He approached her slowly, continuing even when she had backed up against a wall. "To me, you're normal, beautiful. I don't care what you're tied to, as long as you're tied to me as well." He brushed her cheek with curled fingers. "You don't know what I've been through this past year in order to give you your space and not run off to find you. I even obeyed when you told me not to find someone else for a year. A YEAR!"

Maltarian's feathers smoothed out completely, turning back to their original white color. She blinked away the tears that were threatening to fall, trying not to make eye contact with Andulvar so he wouldn't see that something was wrong.

"I did as you told me to."

Maltarian held him at arm's length. She summoned the Ebon-gray Jewel, holding it out with her other hand for Andulvar. "This is what you're here for, then."

"What's your decision? Him…or me?"

The princess slid down the wall. "I don't know," she mumbled feebly. The Ebon-gray Jewel rested at Andulvar's feet. "I thought I knew once what I wanted. A year ago I was sure of everything. Now, even a single day lasts for an eternity."

"Of course. You're not made for sitting around on a chair or at a desk all day long. You have to soar and fight." He kneeled down, picking up his Jewel. "You are a warrior at heart, and no warrior would be content to stay in a cage like this."

Maltarian pulled her legs to her chest. She knew he was right about her being a warrior. It was like a recessive gene in her family, the urge to fight and to prove stronger than any opponent. Now, however, seemed like a good time just to run and disappear.

"Maltarian, look at me."

The princess shook her head. "You're not here, I'm still sleeping, and when I wake up in the morning, the hideous wedding dress hanging in my closet won't be there."

"What's going on here?" Magyar asked, carrying Maltarian's missing outfit. Beside him was Pyro, his face serious.

Andulvar and Maltarian looked up together, but the princess quickly turned her head.

"Andulvar, I didn't expect to see you so soon…let alone at all." He smiled. "Not here for a rematch are we?"

"Your sister invited me to come."

"For the wedding? Kind of pushing time, you think?"

"What do you mean?"

Magyar glanced at Pyro. "It's tonight. It's been delayed for a year already. Father can't stand anymore waiting."

"I didn't think you'd show," Maltarian mumbled.

Andulvar smiled, brushing her hair away from her face.

"Uoy hcuot ot ton mih llet," Pyro ordered sternly.

"You can speak the Common Tongue, you tell him," Maltarian shouted, the long held-back tears dripping down her cheeks.

Pyro's face dropped. "Yrc uoy edam eh?"

"It's your fault! You made me cry." She wiped furiously at the tears, but they wouldn't stop flowing from her eyes. "If you had just let me be who and what I am, then we wouldn't be having this problem."

"And what are you?" Pyro asked in a cultured, heavily accented voice.

Maltarian looked at Andulvar, then back to her fiancé. "I'm a warrior."

"You're a _princess_. You have soldiers to do your fighting."

"Then what good am I to my country if I can't fight?"

"What good are you dead?"

"Have you even seen her fight?" Andulvar defended.

"No one asked you what she can and cannot do."

"No one asked you either."

Pyro looked at Magyar. "Escort them out, Magyar. They have no purpose here."

"They're guests of Maltarian. I have no right to dismiss them after they've traveled a long way to get here."

Pyro punched Magyar in the stomach. "Then I'll take care—"

Andulvar lunged toward Pyro, but was stopped by Calcivar, who knocked Andulvar to the side just inches away. "Get off of me!"

"What?" Calcivar asked, wrapping Andulvar's arms around his wings. "Do you want to be thrown out? That'll look good to the King now won't it?"

"Lady Maltarian," a man said from the door, speaking over the chaos that was going on in the foyer, "the Council, including myself, will be taking a tour of the palace gardens so you can take care of the problems here." He moved his hand in a sweeping motion to indicate the fighting men. "When we return, you are all expected to look decent, especially you, Council-woman."

Maltarian blushed, stuttering apologies. She waited until the Council was out of sight before grabbing the forgotten suit on the floor. "Magyar, could you find rooms for my guests here, and make sure they are appropriately dressed for the wedding?"

"Of course, Lady," Magyar responded, dusting off his clothes.

Maltarian started pulling on her clothes over her nightgown. "There's not enough time to appropriately change," she said when Andulvar gave her a quizzical look.

"There are no gardens?"

"No, but you can see everything from one spot no matter where you stand. Could you pass me that?" She pointed to a ruffled necktie. She took it from Andulvar quickly when he handed it to her, a ribbon dancing through her hair with Craft. As she fitted the necktie, the ribbon weaved into a bow at the end of Maltarian's braided hair. In five minutes, the Princess of Ebon Kae turned from disheveled bride to tidy councilwoman. She looked at the wingless man and woman. "Pardon my manners; I seemed to have overlooked your presence. Who are you?"

"This is Prince Saetan SaDiablo and his wife, Lady Hekatah," Andulvar introduced, and the man bowed. "I thought if you two could find some common ground, then he could become somewhat of a business partner so you could devise safer passage from your island to the mainland of Terreille for your people, and establish a protected territory where they could stay and learn the fighting style of Eyriens."

Maltarian looked at Andulvar, shocked. "You came up with this on your own?"

"Excuse me?" Andulvar asked, a little bite to his tongue.

"That proposition was in the deeper parts of politics. It requires actually establishing grounds, connections. How did you come up with such an extreme, but brilliant, plan like that?"

"I talked with Prince SaDiablo about it. He helped work out some of the finer details to polish it up so it's presentable to any council."

Maltarian turned to Saetan. "Have much experience with councils?" she asked.

"Possibly more than you have, Lady. No offense," the Red Jeweled Warlord Prince responded, bowing slightly to show respect.

"None taken. I'm sorry you were dragged all the way out here. I know it must have been quite the journey."

"Pay no mind. I was actually hoping that I could meet you one day. Prince Yaslana has done nothing but praise your very existence."

Maltarian blushed, glancing sideways at Andulvar, who smiled shyly. "Well, Prince SaDiablo, I'll have to ask you to join me in today's meeting since you have this planned out. If all goes well, we'll have a drink afterward."

The Council entered the foyer, and Maltarian opened a door leading into a rather dark chamber. "After you, gentlemen," she said. "Andulvar, Calcivar. Stand guard, and keep Lady Hekatah and Lord Pyro occupied. I don't care what you do. No one is to enter this room until the meeting is adjourned."

The Eyrien males saluted, and Maltarian paused.

"Before the wedding, I'll have to teach you the proper way to salute the royal family on Ebon Kae."

The two men smiled boyishly.

"Now, gentlemen, I'd like to start this meeting by introducing you to my business partner, who will help me in my reign as Queen by representing Terreille's mainland." She closed the door behind her, and all sound was blocked out.

* * *

Maltarian rubbed her face with water from the crystal clear pond in the palace garden, remembering the first time she had faced the council. She entered the room with unhindered pompousness, and she had been beaten down violently with criticism and ridicule, leaving the room in tears. She had been thirteen. 

Hekatah walked up beside her, looking toward the pond, but at nothing in particular. "I wish I could be in your position, making big decisions that will affect the people I rule."

"You don't want what I have. Even _I_ don't want what I have." Maltarian stood up. "I'm gaining a business partner, a husband, and a court in less than twenty-four hours. By this time tomorrow, I won't even be able to breathe without someone's permission. They're afraid I might inhale something toxic," she sneered. "I'm only sixteen. I want to live my life to the fullest. Run around without guards watching me, my bare feet against the grass. Fly during a storm just to defy…." She trailed off, smiling sheepishly. "I'm sorry. We should be celebrating. Your husband's plan was a success. Tomorrow we flesh out the plan to its full extent, and start writing contracts. Within a few months, my kin will be getting to know our cousins very well."

Hekatah followed Maltarian back to the table in the garden, scowling at how easily the Eagle-Eyrien princess would give up her position of power just to run around like a child. _Ignorant child! She has the power with no idea how to use it. I wouldn't hand over such a prominent position to someone who didn't even want it._

"To SaDiablo," Andulvar cheered, "whose plan successfully began Maltarian's reign as Queen."

"And of course, to the Lady herself," Saetan added, "whose persistence in establishing such a sanctuary proved her worth as a valuable member of any council."

"I'll drink to that!" Calcivar laughed, taking a gulp from his glass. The rest of the group followed his lead.

After a leisurely lunch, Maltarian stood up, calling them to order. "Tomorrow is my coronation ceremony. After such, I establish my court. I would love nothing more than to have each of you part of it. Saetan serving as my Steward as well as representing Dhemlan. Calcivar will be my representative from Askavi. Magyar, you shall serve as my First Escort."

"And my role?" Andulvar asked. "I can't be your Consort. You're marrying someone else."

"Just because I'm married doesn't mean I can't have one," Maltarian defended weakly.

"But you wouldn't do that." He stood up. "Magyar, show me to my room, please."

"Andulvar!" Maltarian called, but the Warlord Prince turned a deaf ear. She fell into her chair, burying her head in her arms.

* * *

Maltarian's sisters, Silarian and Solarian, helped their younger sister dress for the wedding. Though none of them agreed with the attire, it was painfully obvious that the dress would not go away. 

Maltarian tore apart whatever she could get her hands on while sitting at her vanity. "I'm going to be an embarrassment to the family," she said in her native tongue, the words slipping out like water over rocks.

"Who do you like more?" Silarian asked, her voice so light it was almost impossible to hear what she was saying. "Andulvar or Pyro?"

Solarian answered for her younger sister. "Andulvar, obviously. Have you ever seen her so happy and confused?"

"Never within the same time period, no. At various points in her life, she's been this happy and this confused."

"You're not helping," Maltarian whined, sinking down in hopes to disappear from existence.

"Sit up, dear; it's bad for your back to slouch."

Maltarian did as she was told, screwing up her face in the mirror.

Solarian giggled, and Silarian pulled on Maltarian's hair.

"That hurts!"

"So?" Solarian asked, brushing her little sister's cheeks with a light pink powder. "You have to look pretty in that god-awful dress you have to wear tonight, even if it does cause you pain."

Maltarian groaned, looking at the reflection of her dress in the mirror. "Why me?" she whined.

"Because you're the purest blood there is. Dad just messed up."

"You're half!"

"And you're three-quarters," Silarian said, pulling her sisters hair again before twisting it into a tight bun. "Where's your tiara, dear?"

"You lost my tiara??"

"No!"

"I don't think she was wearing it when we came in," Solarian offered, searching around the vanity. "I don't see—"

Someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" the three girls said at once.

The door opened, and Andulvar peeked in. "And what if I had been the groom?" he asked casually, slipping into the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

"He wouldn't come here," Solarian assured, painting Maltarian's lips red. "In fact, I'm surprised you managed to find your way here. The door is Gray-locked."

Andulvar smiled. "I'm stronger than that. Isn't it true, Lady Maltarian Analysse Rosanoff?"

Maltarian turned red, mumbling under her breath.

"What are you here for?" Solarian asked, blocking Maltarian from Andulvar's view.

"Magyar found this in the council room." He held out Maltarian's tiara, newly polished and shined. "He asked me to return it, since he couldn't seem to find the room."

The three girls looked uncomfortable. Maltarian stood up, crossing the room to take her tiara. "Thank you," she said, taking the crown, and bowing her head quickly.

"Ydal, sey," Andulvar said roughly. "Yes, Lady."

Maltarian blushed slightly. "Who taught you that?"

"Magyar."

"Figures." She turned her head away, looking at Andulvar from the corner of her eye. "Your…pronunciation needs some work."

"It always will. I didn't grow up knowing it."

Maltarian hugged him. "Thanks for trying, but you don't have to speak my language."

"It's part of your culture. I hear that's important here." He bowed. "Excuse me; I have…other business to attend to." He started to leave.

"You'll be at the wedding?"

Andulvar placed his hand on the doorknob. "No." He passed through the door, leaving the room locked in Gray.

"Don't cry, Maltarian," Solarian said. "You'll smudge your make-up."

* * *

Elohar waited at the altar with his nervous, soon-to-be-son-in-law. His wings twitched with anticipation, causing the guards behind him to back up. Elohar's eyes glanced over the audience. The Rosanoff family members, the Rhyne family members, and the Makavali family members were dispersed in their own groups among the pews. 

Pyro kept reciting lines to himself, looking toward the doors leading into the chapel.

_He won't forget them anytime soon,_ Elohar said to himself. He left the altar toward the doors. _She's taking too long_. He opened the doors, and there she stood, back turned to her own wedding. Elohar walked over to her, staring out of the window to find what his youngest daughter was looking at.

Andulvar practiced with Calcivar out in the yard, using nothing but sheer force while Calcivar blocked with the power of his Red Jewel, pushing Andulvar to fight harder.

Elohar cleared his throat, and Maltarian jumped. "Something bothering you?" he asked, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"I don't want to do this, baba," she said, her voice strained. "Please…don't make me marry him."

Elohar frowned. "It's what's best."

"I don't care anymore. If you want someone to do what's best, make Solarian or Silarian marry him. They'd at least be able to do what you expect of them."

"You can, too."

Maltarian shook her head, stepping away from her father so he could see her fully. "I'm too wild a spirit." She looked out of the window again, black tears staining her cheek.

Elohar wiped away the tears, smiling at his daughter. "He is your fancy now, but in a few years, as your devotion to your husband is strengthened, you'll find that this boy you seem so fond of…he's only a phase."

"A phase?" Maltarian turned away from her father. "He's not a phase. You'll see. The more you keep me cooped up here…the harder I'm going to try, and the faster I'm going to run."

"You have a wedding to attend to," Elohar said angrily, holding Maltarian by the arm and directing her to the doors of the chapel.

The guests rose, staring expectedly at the princess.

Elohar guided her daughter down the aisle, his controlling hand hidden between them.

Pyro stood at the end, waiting with a fake smile.

Magyar didn't look at his sister. He didn't want to see in her eyes the anger and betrayal he knew she felt.

Maltarian hissed to her father, "You're going to regret this," and took her place next to her fiancé. She blocked out the wedding as the High Priestess droned on and on from her book; it was apparent the girl didn't often speak at weddings.

"Do you, Magyar," the girl began.

"Pyro," the bride and groom corrected quickly.

"Oh…oh yes. Do you Pyro Makavali take Maltarian to be your wife?"

"I do," Pyro said with great assurance.

"And do you, Maltarain Rosanoff take Pyro to be your husband?"

Maltarian looked at her fiancé, then to the nearest window. _If I can just get through the window_...

"Lady," the Priestess called.

Maltarian bit her lip, then said clearly and evenly, "No." She turned as the crowd stood up in shock. She smiled casually at them, and ran to the window.

The guards caught her at the waist forcing her back.

She turned on Pyro. "You're stuck up! You're no good. You're an improper husband!" She ran down the aisle, leaving Pyro standing stupidly at the altar.

* * *

Andulvar watched the palace. Somewhere on the fifth floor of the palace was a chapel, and that's where his life was, marrying some other man—against her will, as far as he was concerned. "Calcivar, was it right for me to let her go?" he asked as the other rubbed sore muscles. 

"You know what they say. If you love them, let them go," Calcivar responded. "And if she loves you—"

"She'll come back. I know, but I just can't stop thinking something about this isn't right."

"This?"

"Right here, right now. Look around, Calcivar. Where is everyone?"

"At the wedding?"

"You're going to tell me not a single person in Ebon Kae hates the royal family?"

"Well…it's a small place."

"Askavi is a small place, and there are still people trying to knock off the Queen."

Calcivar paused in responding. He knew Andulvar was right, but he didn't want to believe a peaceful place like Maltarian's home would be sheltering rebellious murderers. He looked, instead, to the chapel window.

"Andulvar!" Maltarian shouted, appearing over the rise of the hill. She was dressed only in the slip that was under her wedding dress.

Andulvar waved, but the princess didn't wave back, didn't even slow down. As she drew nearer, he could see that she was upset, possibly stressed, and, at some point in time, had been crying.

She ran past them quickly, and Andulvar turned on his heel, ready to chase after her.

"Calcivar, make sure everything is all right," he ordered, the started sprinting after Maltarian. He found the girl balancing on her heels at the edge of a cliff, the edge of Ebon Kae. "That's not safe," he said cautiously as Maltarian rocked back and forth. "A good warrior wouldn't leave their backs open. If someone came by and hit you across the head, you'd drown."

Maltarian looked at him. "And what if I want to die?"

"Why would you do that?"

"Because, no matter how long I stall, I'll still have to marry him. One day, I'll only be a Rosanoff in blood, not name."

Andulvar knelt behind Maltarain, and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her away from the edge. "What if you get married to someone else when no one is looking?"

"Who would I marry?"

Andulvar squeezed her tightly, trying not to let the anger provoked by the question take hold.

"Everyone here knows I'm engaged to Pyro."

"I don't, nor do I care," Andulvar said through clenched teeth. Was she trying to push him away?

Maltarian relaxed against him, and Andulvar felt as if they were melting together to become one. She slipped into his body gently, her heart covering his, and her wings fitting gently in his.

Andulvar felt his heart rise into his throat, a sickening sensation twisting his insides. Every thought Maltarian ever had, every event of her life, was etched in front of him like a never-ending movie. He could only guess what she was seeing of his mind.

Maltarain continued to move backward like water, separating herself from Andulvar, her memories becoming her own again.

Andulvar's body shook, and his stomach lurched. Maltarian had passed through him like he was a wall, and now he paid the price by leaving his breakfast in a liquid state on the ground in front of him.

Maltarian was behind him, clean as a whistle, though a little more bare than she was just a few minutes ago. Her eyes avoided his as she brought her knees to her chest. It was obvious that she, too, was in shock.

"Maltarian—"

"Don't look! I'm not wearing any clothes."

Andulvar felt his stomach turn. "Don't remind me." He crawled behind her, his back pressed against hers. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?"

"I asked you first."

"You're my guest. It's my duty to make sure that everything is okay with you before I tend to any problems I might be having."

"You're my Queen. It's my duty to make sure that you'll survive, even if I don't."

Maltarian went still. "Don't say that," she whispered, leaning against him as support. "I don't know what I would do without you."

"You'll find some other Warlord Prince to annoy you to no ends because he thinks it's cute when you're angry, or that you're beautiful no matter how you look or what you've been through."

"Andulvar—" Maltarian's voice caught in her throat.

"Ydal ym, sey? Yes, my lady?"

"Do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Annoy me because you like me when I'm angry."

"I like you whenever. I just think it's cute when you're mad at me for some benign reason." He smiled. "Uoy evol i," he purred. "I love you." He looked at her. "Where are your clothes?"

Maltarian turned around to glare at him. "Under your breakfast," she said, pointing to where Andulvar vomited only yards away. She summoned a powder blue cloak with starred trim, and wrapped herself in it. "Escort me back to my room, Prince Yaslana. Or is that not one of your duties?"

Andulvar hesitated, and then linked arms with her as she led him.

* * *

Andulvar tried not to laugh as Maltarian regaled him with her wedding story. He attempted to focus on massaging her wing joints, but found it impossible the more the story progressed. He stretched out on top of her. "Now what happens?" he asked, a little laughter in his voice. 

Maltarian shrugged as best she could with Andulvar's weight on her. "I guess I get forced to do it again a few days…when they can figure out what I did with that hideous wedding dress."

Andulvar rubbed her shoulders, kissing her neck. "What did you do with it?"

"Since it seemed to keep coming back…I hid it in the last place anyone would look."

"Where's that?"

"In the bathroom, behind all the towels in the linen closet."

Andulvar climbed off of her, moving toward the bathroom door.

"Andulvar!" Maltarian called, chasing after him. "Andulvar, don't look at it!"

The Ebon-gray Warlord Prince pulled the dress out, handing it to Maltarian. "Put it on."

"No!"

"Put it on."

"Why should I?"

Andulvar pulled her close, the dress between them. "Because," he whispered in her ear, "I want to tear it off of you." He kissed her, spinning around so she was inside the bathroom, where he locked her in until she consented.

Maltarian came out of the bathroom a few minutes after she gave up pounding against the door. She frowned, crossing her arms in front of her. "I told you it was hideous."

Andulvar pulled her to the mirror. "I think, with a few alterations, this could become a stunning dress." He pulled out one of his bladed sticks, cutting smoothly through the dress fabric to make a low-cut neckline. "Doesn't that look better?" he asked, his lips brushing against Maltarian's ear.

Maltarian shuddered, watching her reflection as Andulvar's knife cut through the front of the dress in different patterns until it was nothing more than strips of fabric on the floor around the princess. She felt Andulvar's touches and her body responded to them.

"You never gave me your answer," he said suddenly.

"Answer to what?"

Andulvar bit her neck, causing Maltarain to gasp. "Marry me?"

"You still want me to? After all the trouble I've caused you?"

"I can't help but feel I'm attached." He held out the Ebon-gray Jewel Maltarian had stolen a year back. "I was prone to a year's worth of fits of jealousy, rage, sadness and joy for reasons that I couldn't explain. Now I understand."

"What's that?"

"You are the cause of my emotions going wild. You carried this around with you everywhere you went, didn't you?"

"I might have…." She turned to look at him. "Are you…mad?"

He picked her up at her waist, and threw her on the bed.

Maltarian scrambled to sit up in a position she could defend herself, but Andulvar pushed her down, holding her at his mercy.

* * *

Yay!! Not as suspenseful as the last chapter...but still. It leaves to the imagination. 

And for those of you who still can't figure out the language, then keep working on it. It'll eventually click.

P.S.--Yasu-chan and Hikari-chan. No, you can't tell them. No. No! NO! I SAID NO, GOSH DARNIT!! And don't tell me to go to my brothel! I'm hard at work on chapter three especially for your entertainments!

Stay tuned for chapter three...coming up within the next six months...maybe.


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